


Cherche of Rosanne, Stahl of Ylisse

by maevestrom



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Chores, Dragons, F/M, Firewood, Gift Giving, Handkercheif, Laundry, Returning Home, S-Support, Valm Culture/Customs, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14983109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevestrom/pseuds/maevestrom
Summary: or, Three times Stahl tripped in the face of Valm custom, and the one time he didn't.or, Three times Cherche laughed it off, and the one time she cried.A fic based off of the support log between Cherche and Stahl





	1. Cherche of Rosanne

**Author's Note:**

> This is the best support log of the game, I wish there was more work for them, and I feel bad for missing this S-Support on my last play through like I seriously might replay the game just to set them up omgggggggggggg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or, Three times Stahl tripped in the face of Valm customs near its lady of dragons, and the one time he didn't

You manage to trip in the face of Valm customs a total of three times. 

She, the Valmese lady of dragons, manages to laugh off each one.

The first is when you’re on laundry duty again, about to start the last load when you smell it. It’s the sort of smell unfitting of dirty clothes, and is not the finishing fragrance you’ve slipped into the soap on the sponge. You cock your head at it when she shows up, surprised to miss laundry duty and- judging by the downturn of her lips- slightly disappointed.

You realize you’re nose deep into her cloak when she identifies it as hers. “I sprinkle it with a special fragrance I find soothing,” she explains. “It helps me get a good night's rest, even when we're camped in the wilds.”

That explains how it’s so unique and appealing- and it also explains how it’s so Cherche, even regal in the wilderness. “Gods, it’s like nothing I’ve ever smelled before!” . 

She giggles. “It smells of home to me. It's quite common back where I come from.” That may be true, but already you have associated the smell with  _ her,  _ not Valm. 

“It's interesting how things vary from place to place,” you muse reverently. “Smells, fashions, art, manners…”  _ Or from person to person. _

She takes a few seconds to respond. Her face is blank, and her eyes distant, but before you can ask if she's okay, she continues.

“Before the empire swallowed up all of Valm, the land was split into small, unique realms,” she explains, forcing a smile. She looks normal, but you can’t convince yourself that she is. “You can still see these differences today as you move from town to town.”

The way she talks about home- and of how the empire “swallowed us up” like she's caught in the gullet still- is like a baby bird who misses the nest she was driven out of. Of someone who tries to convince herself it was the best decision to fly, someone who doesn't desperately want to be sheltered by it, but misses it anyways.

You listen with deeply devoted interest.

Somewhere down the line, she points out “Speaking of manners and customs, it is... Um…” The more she gets embarrassed, the more intently you listen with a goofy smile. “Well, in my land, it's considered very bad form to go sniffing a lady's cloak.”

Well.  _ It's probably bad form anywhere,  _ you think, your inner Stahl kicking himself. You didn't even think to be embarrassed by your sloppy actions until now, but play it off with humor, as humor is always a good way to mask embarrassment. “Then why do you make it smell so good? It's like a trap!”

She giggles again, still looking at the ground near the basin. “Heh. I suppose it is, at that.” Still, while she would probably never admit it, you can see a small pink tint to her cheeks, and you wonder to yourself how on Earth the Dragon Tamer of Valm became so shy.

\---

The second is when you invite her to look for firewood with her. Taking stock of everything reveals that you're low on it so you were headed there anyways, but when she approaches the tent you’re in, hand on the center beam, you realized you didn't want to skip an opportunity to spend time with her. 

Awhile after she sees you and you make small talk, she points out “You know, it seems like every time I see you, you're engaged in another chore.”

You scratch the back of your neck with a sheepish smile. “I volunteer a lot. I just enjoy keeping things...tidy, I guess.” Since that makes you the  _ chore  _ guy and not someone who can fight, you add “Plus, you don't want some of these axe slingers going anywhere near your laundry.”

She smiles in a distinctively charming way, slinking around the tentpole to face you and possibly drive you wild with her form twisting around the center like a snake. “Well, I think it's very admirable. Perhaps you could use a hand?”

You pop the question. “Well, I WAS just about to head out to collect more firewood... Perhaps you'd care to accompany me to the forest?” She stops twirling and looks at you, confused and concerned. To make it more appealing, you add “I can use your talents if we stumble across any fell beasts.”

Unlike the last time where she let you bite the lure before catching, she informs you quickly. “Back in my village, an invitation to collect firewood indicates romantic interest.” Your eyes widen when you realize the hole you stumbled into, but she seemed more occupied with  _ why  _ it indicates such. “Something to do with firewood igniting the flames of passion in the girl's heart…” 

“Wha?!” You barely remain in your feet. Gods help you for innocuously sending the wrong signals! You nearly panic. “G-good gracious, truly? I... I meant no offense. I swear!” A pause. She smiles as if to forgive. Then, remembering her own confusion on the manner, you blurt “Also, that is a really weird first date. I'm just saying.”

Again, she giggles, but  _ you're _ the one turning bright red, flustered. “Oh, it's quite all right,” she says, and the way her eyes glint is a tad bit mischievous. “How were you to know?” 

You scratch the back of your neck while thinking  _ Perhaps if I were a better study on Valm, _ but the more she talks, asking you to tell her about Ylisse in a way that saves you from your own embarrassment, you realize that you are a very good study on  _ her. _

You admit from the moment your eyes first laid on her, you knew she was something special. She stood with the grace of a warrior, perfect posture, jaw always held firm as she looks up at who she’s talking to, never down, mauve hair resting in a straight line against the spot where her outfit bares her back. The more you learned about her, the more you saw her talk, the more she fought with the same fixed slight smile on her face, the more you knew she was someone special. 

“Shall we?”

You realize you’ve completely zoned out and laugh. “Sorry, on my way!” You watch as she beckons you forward and turns away, her hair turning with her, a tiny amused smile on her face. You know you have to be careful when asking her next time, but you already want to go with her again. 

\---

The third time is when you’re presented with a handkerchief and you take it to mean far more than it does.

She says it's as a gift for telling her all your stories on Valm, which honors you immediately. It's beautiful, rounded and folded into quarters, made of soft pink silk with a cloudy mix of white that reminds you of her. “I'm not an expert at needlework,” she says, and you catch yourself from laughing at her wild inaccuracy. 

You're still looking at it when she says she wants to visit Ylisse. You look at her with a small bit of puzzlement, because Ylisse is certainly  _ nice  _ (it's your home, after all) but would it honestly impress the Lady of Dragons? So you say “That's funny, because when peace comes, I've decided to visit  _ your  _ homeland.” Her eyebrows raise a centimeter too high to be coordinated, and you add “I want to help reunite families and rebuild their towns and villages.”

A small bit taken aback, she says that it should really be  _ her  _ job, and you wonder if you came on too strongly. The idea sends you reeling, because it wasn't strong enough. 

The more you see her, the more you realize her control is from the years she spent as the servant and knight to Virion, and how- even though you know Virion hides a deeply caring heart underneath his bluster- he has not appreciated her enough. She is not a vassal, even as she would say she knows as much, and she should not accept the reconstruction of Rosanne to be the sole responsibility of Rosanne. It should not be the entirety of her goals. She  _ deserves  _ more, and you realize you would rebuild her entire nation from the ground up just to see her smile. 

As if to give a reason, you hold out the handkerchief, and say “This handkerchief is a gift given from one best friend to another, is it not?” Her eyes meet yours, and your heart races in passion to the point where you forget how to take it easy. “So forget Ylisse! There are plenty there who can rebuild better than I. Instead, I shall work to rebuild the country of my dear, close friend, Cherche!”

You feel like you stuck the landing for approximately half a second until she looks at you with confusion, and then, pity.

“Why, Stahl, that's very sweet of you,” she starts, though doubt in her gaze tells you she's taken it as a sweet  _ nothing. _ “But, I think you made a mistake. The gift of a handkerchief is only significant when exchanged between women.” 

Oh.

She continues. “From a woman to a man, it has no meaning at all... “ Trying to brighten her eyes, she adds “Well, other than a nice gift.” 

Damn. You feel foolish, and she really doesn't have to keep focusing on making you feel better. “Blast, this is  _ most  _ embarrassing…” you reply darkly. To lighten the mood, you add “Why didn't I read that passage more carefully?”

She laughs quietly, but it's not legitimate, as if she's also trying to bring life back into the moment. “It's quite all right,” she says. “I'm flattered you thought to read about my country at all.” You're grateful, but you know that someone like her deserves to have her culture regarded correctly by someone who claims to want to be its savior.

And, to be honest, you wish her gift  _ had  _ meant more than it did.

\---

The one time you got it right is when you hold a ring in your pocket and ask her for a moment, because if you're honest you just want to get this disappointment over with. It’s hard to imagine a world where Cherche accepts your proposal, but if you don’t ask now, blessing or curse will come too late and you will miss every moment. 

She reads you like a map of the distance between Ylisse and Valm when you accept that the two of you are friends, and you think that it will never branch out to anything more, because she is Cherche, lady of dragons, tamer and mother to Wyverns, the hero of Rosanne, and because  you thought that a handkerchief was a symbol of lifelong commitment. 

“You sound almost...dissatisfied about that,” she points out, mouth slightly open in concern. “Or is that your naturally furrowed brow?

You chuckle dryly, in resistance to yourself, as you remember how you may have mentioned that before you collected firewood for the first time. Still, you admit “I think you have the right of it, Cherche.” You think, and clarify “Dissatisfaction, I mean.” 

She looks at you with concern. Like she's on the precipice of losing something. “What are you saying?” 

May as well dive in.

You reach into your pocket, grabbing the ring for support. “Cherche.” You sound out her name reverently. “When I'm with you, I want something more than friendship.” Immediately, her face flames as pink as her hair. “I misinterpreted your gift last time, but this time there can be no mistake. So...here.”

You pull your hand from your pocket and realize you’re nearly wearing the ring you’re presenting. Quickly, you pull it off. She laughs, but she’s more nervous than you have ever seen her, as if she knows what you’re doing.

She plays dumb. “You’re giving me a ring?”

“It's an Ylissean custom,” you explain carefully. “It means I want to marry you.”

She gasps, closing her eyes as she holds the hand with the ring in is. Careful, ginger, as if she could hurt you with one wrong swipe, when the only way she could is by not taking what’s within your palm.

Then: “I know. We have the same custom in Valm.” 

She’s kind, and her voice is wispy. She doesn’t take the ring but doesn’t let go. She holds your hand like she’s keeping you from falling while she’s about to herself, and in that moment you do not doubt that you absolutely love her. 

“Great,” you say breathlessly, forcing a smile she does not see. She smiles, but you feel her hand trembling in hers, and you know that it’s wrong, it feels wrong,  _ Cherche of Rosanne does not shake like this.  _ Still, if humor can mask embarrassment, maybe it’s the cure for other troubles. “Then my intention should be crystal clear!”

As hoped for, she smiles. Good, because that’s one thing you know you’re good at. You place your other hand on hers, and she opens her eyes as you begin.

“I love you, Cherche, and friendship just isn't enough anymore,” you admit, and it’s far easier than you imagined, enough to get you carried away. “I want us to be man and wife, and maybe raise a family together. I want your home to be my home, and I want to help rebuild your country. What do you say, Cherche? Shall we build a future together?” You stop there, and you find that you’re staring at her intensely, out of the ocean of promises and coming to land entirely terrified. 

She notices. “You look worried again.”

You take the top hand off of hers and scratch the back of your neck awkwardly. “Er, I was going for more of an earnest and beseeching kind of thing…”

She giggles, and takes your other hand when you go to return it with her free hand. She offers courtesy: “Yes, I see it now. A pleading look, especially around the eyes.” You laugh in a way that makes you realize how calming your own humor can be in times of heightened emotion. 

She wraps her hand around your ring, as if to grab it. She stops. She doesn’t quite grab it, but her hand still touches yours. 

Then she whispers, her voice shaking. 

“Are you sure you want to abandon Ylisse and throw in your lot with Valm?” You know she has more to say, and it takes her too long to say it. “When your ardor... cools, and reality sets in, you may well regret your decision.” 

Maybe she has a point. Maybe as you go by the decision to stay in Valm rather than going to rebuild Ylisse is a decision whose appeal will wear. But the more she cups the ring like she’d take it if only she didn’t fear you would reconsider and pull it away, the idea of fulfilling her fears on any level seems further and further impossible somehow.

“The ring symbolizes a lifelong oath,” you swear. “I shall not break it.”

She finally takes the ring and places it on. You smile, and you can feel the tears in your eyes as surely as you can see them on hers. “Then I must make a promise, too,” she says. “Stahl, I will love you and honor you for the rest of my life.”

You choke out a sob but it sounds like a laugh. It was probably both.

She drops your hands, then grabs the back of your neck and kisses you fiercely. You’re surprised, and she’s so swift to kiss you that she may have knocked out two teeth, but you knew this sort of passion lay beneath her ribs. You return it, hands on her back, and the two of you are clumsy as you kiss, but you don’t care if she falls over or is about to cry in your arms, she will still always be the brave, powerful, determined Valmese Lady of Dragons you first met.


	2. Stahl of Ylisse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or, Three times Cherche laughed off Stahl misunderstanding her customs, and the one time she cried.

You notice him misunderstand your culture’s practices three times.

With a sheepish smile on his face, he manages to make you laugh off each one.

The first is when you notice his nose in your cloak and you’re not as offput as you expect to be. Perhaps you should be a  _ little  _ perturbed, as you know it to be a lecherous form of naked desire in Valm, but it’s strangely justifiable. It  _ does  _ smell nice. Minerva seems to enjoy it, and you won’t deny that a lot of what you do is for her.

Still, he’s quite mystified by the scent. “Say, do you know whose cloak this is? It has the most delightful smell!”

You smile with a playful glint in your eye. ”Oh, that’s mine!” 

Immediately, he meets your eyes with mortal terror and tears his face away from it with a flushed look that hollowly denies what he blatantly did, and you chuckle to yourself. “I sprinkle it with a special fragrance I find soothing,” you explain, to temper his embarrassment. “It helps me get a good night's rest, even when we're camped in the wilds.”

Perhaps that’s why you are softer on Stahl. You know that you have spent many a night in the hinterlands of Valm taking in the scent, before and after the Shepherds. It’s a tradition that helps you get through battles with your humanity intact- and maintaining who you are is important to you. You like the idea of someone respecting that.

Realization dawns on him. “Gods, it’s like nothing I’ve ever smelled before!” 

You giggle. “It smells of home to me. It's quite common back where I come from.”  _ Home,  _ you realize. The idea fills you with a strange sort of longing, but one that doesn’t feel permanent. Sort of like putting away a beloved winter coat at the start of spring, but… more potent. As you talk to Stahl about Valm in the barest of terms, it feels like that coat is in tatters, but you still must pack it away until the start of winter where you can take it to a tailor. 

Try to, at least.

You notice that he pays rapt attention to your every word as much as you do. What an honor! “Someday I'm going to buy you an ale and have you tell me all about it!” he says, and you think about how you would like that so much and not at all. You’re charmed by his authentic interest, but at the very least, you would need quite a bit of ale to talk about home at length. 

A few lines of conversation, and you remember what you first thought. “Speaking of manners and customs, it is... Um…” He perks his head up, and you’re a little reluctant to embarrass him. He smiles obliviously, lovely and light.  _ My, you don’t make it easy.  _ “Well, in my land, it's considered very bad form to go sniffing a lady's cloak.” 

His eyes widen, but he’s not too surprised, like he should have expected it. Upon introspection, you too can see the universal offense of such an action. “Then why do you make it smell so good?” he pleads, playing up his confusion. “It's like a trap!”

You giggle. He’s still far too sweet for his interest. “I suppose it is, at that.” He chuckles shyly as he turns back to the laundry, scratching the back of his neck in that devastatingly cute way, and you have to admit he’s doing quite a nice job with the lure as well.

\---

The second time is when he invited you to collect firewood and you were happier to say yes than you should have been. 

Of course, that’s not where the conversation begins. It starts when you notice him again in the inventory tent, looking concerned enough to make you look around for Risen for a moment. You want to whistle for Minerva, but instead say “Is something the matter?” He jumps, not knowing you were there. You weren’t trying to be stealthy, but weren’t trying  _ not  _ to be. 

Still, he recovers. Maybe he’s naturally skittish? “Oh, hey, Cherche. No, nothing's the matter, per se.”

If that’s the case, he did a damn good job convincing you of the opposite. “Is that so?” you ask, still unsure as you lean against the tentpole. “You look worried. Furrowed brow and all that.”

He grins in a way that seems designed to relieve, and is quite successful. “Oh, you can just ignore that. My brow furrows pretty easily.”

You figure that he’s sincere about his concern level, though he seems more concerned about  _ you.  _ “Being naturally frowny must cause many a misunderstanding,” you reply with a scripted chuckle, but he’s smiling. With a sneaky smile, you add “Or perhaps it just makes people feel more solicitous toward you.”

He laughs. “I'd never thought of it as an advantage before.” You can tell the thought does not befit him as it does you, the idea of using your appearance to plant thoughts in one’s head. It’s hardly difficult, and it’s surprisingly close to your heart, defining yourself by how you move, how you stand, how you talk, how you are.  _ Something Stahl is a master of inadvertently, _ you deduce.

You look at the inventory behind him. My, that would be unpleasant to count. “You know,” you point out, “it seems like every time I see you, you're engaged in another chore.”

He scratches the back of his neck again, and your mouth drops in a smile. ( _ Like that!)  _ “I volunteer a lot. I just enjoy keeping things...tidy, I guess.” He adds too quickly “Plus, you don't want some of these axe slingers going anywhere near your laundry,” but you are already impressed, as someone who considers it a formal duty, to see anyone volunteer to do the dirty work. It’s no secret that you enjoy the domestic work, and how it clears your mind, so to see this roughneck cavalier feel near the same is affirming. 

You twist around the tentpole to face him, and see him try to maintain eye contact. “Well, I think it's very admirable. Perhaps you could use a hand?” It is a specialty you share, after all. 

“Well, I  _ was  _ just about to head out to collect more firewood,” he clarifies, and you cease movement to hide your surprise. “Perhaps you'd care to accompany me to the forest?” You’re surprised, not expecting such a proposal. It’s when he says “I can use your talents if we stumble across any fell beasts” that you remember you are with  _ Stahl,  _ from Ylisse, and not near Virion, who would ask many a maiden to accompany him, and returning less impeccably clean than he was before. 

You know you must look quite the fool. “Back in my village, an invitation to collect firewood indicates romantic interest,” you explain, and his eyes widen. Oh, no, you knew he meant no harm; in fact, why is this even tradition? “Something to do with firewood igniting the flames of passion in the girl's heart…” 

“Wha?!” He’s about to fall over. He’s adorable sometimes. “G-good gracious, truly? I... I meant no offense. I swear!” While you could watch him sweat it out more, you send him a smile. After a second, he adds “Also, that is a really weird first date. I'm just saying.”

You giggle, quite the mess as you realize that some traditions are, frankly, ridiculous, and all the more comforting for that. A secret you keep with your land, and him. “Oh, it's quite all right,” you explain, but the redder he gets, the sneakier you feel. “How were you to know?” 

He scratches the back of his head again.  _ Oh my, he’s going to make me spin out of my boots.  _ You would prefer it if he still invited you. You’ve never been invited to gather firewood before. You would like to help him. So, like Gaius, you sweeten the deal. “In any case, I'll help out, and you can tell me more about the culture of Ylisse.”

He grins, like a street rat in the presence of knights. “Sounds like a plan!” Yet, he does not move at first. He has his eyes on you, deep in thought. You don’t return eye contact- nor would he notice- but you wonder what he sees.

You made the right decision.

\---

The third time is when you present him with a handkerchief and he may give his life to you for it.

It was easy to knit, no trouble at all. You admit you had to work to make it unique- you dyed the silk in white until it was just milky enough to blend seamlessly. Perhaps pink and white are feminine colors, but you doubted he was one to mind. You have the fabric left over from knitting for Minerva, and she seems to like it, so perhaps he will too. 

You tell him it’s in exchange for his stories on Ylisse, but that’s a half-truth. You enjoy learning about him, but just as he thanks the Shepherds with his constant thankless work, you want to thank him back. 

He holds it close to his chest. “I think it's great! I'd buy this in a store!” You’re surprised to see,  _ by the gods, he is entirely sincere.  _

“That’s very kind of you to say!” you respond breathlessly. So you do not expire beneath his smile, you add “You've taught me so much about the culture of Ylisse that I'm quite anxious to visit. In fact, when this war is over, I'm planning to tour its most famous sights.”

You assumed that this would strike him as good news, but when you say it, he looks confused, the appeal lost on him. You can’t imagine why. Maybe Ylisse is full of empty fields of cow dung, though it’s far more likely not, but you want to see the world that made Stahl, this ever-pleasant creature comfort with a smile on his face and the humility to serve others free of charge. 

It’s not until he responds “That's funny, because when peace comes, I've decided to visit  _ your  _ homeland” that you understand his concern. You’re already filled with light dread at the idea, but pledge to take him on a tour when he goes a step further. “I want to help reunite families and rebuild their towns and villages.”

_ No, but my dear, you do  _ not. 

Home is still a sore subject. The reconstruction of Rosanne is a wound on your heart, especially the further it gets from the day Walhart took it over. It feels like a distant dream you are lazily letting float through the air, out of sight, but at the same time you are bound to it, unable to keep it far enough from your mind for it to escape without a fight. It’s your  _ home.  _ Without it, you would not be Cherche. It’s too bound to you to believe that someone so kind would help you rebuild. It’s too painful for you  _ to let yourself _ believe that. 

“I have to at least visit Valm,” he insists. With a carefree glint in his eyes, he adds “I mean, we  _ did  _ collect firewood together.”

You laugh inelegantly at that, because you did, him for Ylisse and you for Rosanne. 

Still, he continues in a way you don’t quite process until he pulls the handkerchief out of the chest pocket he put it in. “This handkerchief is a gift given from one best friend to another, is it not?” It was, but was it meant to be? He continues with more passion than you’ve seen from him. “So forget Ylisse! There are plenty there who can rebuild better than I. Instead, I shall work to rebuild the country of my dear, close friend, Cherche!”

You look bewildered. You still don’t know if he means it, but you know that he thinks he does.

You let him down gently. “Why, Stahl, that's very sweet of you… But, I think you made a mistake. The gift of a handkerchief is only significant when exchanged between women.” 

A sigh is his only reaction.  _ My dear, I wish it meant more than it did too.  _ You try and smile. “From a woman to a man, it has no meaning at all... Well, other than a nice gift.” 

“Blast,” he says in a startlingly honest growl. “this is  _ most  _ embarrassing…” Still, he forces mirth into his eyes. “Why didn't I read that passage more carefully?”

To help, you giggle quietly. It’s too short. “It's quite all right. I'm flattered you thought to read about my country at all.” You are, you really are, but there’s sadness in his smile as he faces you, like he failed you somehow by not knowing, and you want to tell him that not knowing it all only serves as a motivator to know more, because you fear he thinks he will never know enough.

\---

The first time he gets it right is when he asks to talk with you as you scan the tents for him. You follow him because you trust him, even as he draws away from the tents. (Besides, even if you couldn’t, you could have him on the ground beneath your boot in twenty seconds flat if so desired, before you fed him to Minerva.) As you reach the outskirts of camp, underneath a wild oak tree, he apologizes for not knowing about the meaning of the handkerchief. You tilt your head, and for a second you wonder if that’s why he brought you all the way out there, and then you realize it can’t possibly be. 

Indeed, something seems off with him. Resigned to sadness, even. This isn’t what you wanted for him. You want Stahl to be happy, but you can tell when he says that the two of you have become good friends, he isn’t saying it with satisfaction. 

Does he already regret knowing you? 

You eye him with worry. “You sound almost...dissatisfied about that.” To temper your own fear, you add “Or is that your naturally furrowed brow?” He chuckles mirthlessly, and you can’t help but wonder who this is, as it is not Stahl.

“I think you have the right of it, Cherche,” he says. “Dissatisfaction, I mean.”

You’re scared into a heart attack. If you lose Stahl, you will struggle as much to rebuild your heart as you will when restoring Rosanne. It’s funny to know you’re at war, that you could lose life or limb every day, and yet your weakness is another human. 

Like a terrified, lonely girl, you ask “What do you mean?”

Stahl looks right at you. “Cherche.” The way he says your name honors you. “When I'm with you, I want something more than friendship.” 

_ More. _

Oh. 

You don’t really get out of the empty shock in your own mind until he holds out a ring. Or something of the sort; he flicks it off the thumb that it doesn’t come close to fitting on. You laugh, because it is Stahl, the one who draws attention to his own mistakes with a laugh, the one who works day and night in camp, who knows everyone’s food preferences to the point where he prepares Minerva a whole seasoned pig, the one who always smiles when he sees you and scratches the back of the neck like  _ your  _ presence honors him, the one with messy hair and brown eyes that are full of love and, now, a hand with a ring in it. 

Stahl says it’s a Ylissean custom that means he wants to marry you, but you know it’s one in Valm too, and you know  _ he  _ knows that. You can tell that he doesn’t think he’s the same as you, when you know the way he’s feeling, you are too. 

So you tell him you have the same custom in Valm, and take his hand. Your hands cage the ring, but you still can’t believe it. You still can’t believe he won’t second-guess himself, and as much as you love him, love this sweet adorable man with everything that makes you Cherche, you will allow him to if he must. 

“Then my intention should be crystal clear!” he says, making you smile. He’s slow to start, but as he gets into the rhythm, he gets carried away. “I love you, Cherche, and friendship just isn't enough anymore. I want us to be man and wife, and maybe raise a family together. I want your home to be my home, and I want to help rebuild your country. What do you say, Cherche? Shall we build a future together?”

You may pass out, because he means that, you know he does, and it all sounds so wonderful, that he  _ loves  _ you, but all of it can be so fleeting, and you are reluctant to open your gates to him when there is so much left to rebuild. 

Eventually, you say it, with so little breath your body tries to stop you. “Are you sure you want to abandon Ylisse and throw in your lot with Valm?” Your eyes close and your breathing is short, but your hands tighten around his, because somewhere around the line you held both of his so you don’t fall. You choke out “When your ardor... cools, and reality sets in, you may well regret your decision.” 

Nothing in his body language denies that. And yet, he is sincere. “The ring symbolizes a lifelong oath. I shall not break it.”

You believe him, and take the ring, putting it on what’s probably the wrong finger. It can be fixed in time. “Then I must make a promise, too,” you offer. With all the reverence in your heart, you say “Stahl, I will love you and honor you for the rest of my life.”

He sob-laughs, and you realize that whether you acknowledged it or not, honor him you already have. And whether you acknowledge it or not, crying you already are.

You drop his hands, then run into his arms and kiss him fiercely. The two of you nearly fall over, but as long as that’s a temporary distraction from how badly you want to jump his damn bones, you will be fine. After his surprise (you may have dislocated his jaw, after all), he returns the kiss with hands clasped hopelessly on your back, hungry, hypnotized, reverential, as if he cannot believe this moment. For an entirely different set of reasons, you can’t either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legitimately how does this couple not have hundreds of works dedicated to it? Y'all have failed me, fam.


End file.
